


Cherry Opera

by corrupted_quiet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Demons, F/F, Female Homosexuality, Femslash, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Sexual Content, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-31 05:20:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corrupted_quiet/pseuds/corrupted_quiet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a special thing when they’re alone. Because they can ditch their roles as enemies and perform together as lovers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cherry Opera

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, have some porn.

Red hair.

Shining cherry hair.

Ruby has her fingers knotted in it, yanking at the long flowing locks as she gasps for breath. She’s choking on air, every inhale of heated air another breath stolen from her. She doesn’t care, though, ignoring her vacant vessel’s plea to breathe, too high off pleasure to pay attention to silly human things like that.

She feels her. Anna. In between her legs. Her tongue licking hungrily. Moisture mixing with heat. Gasoline splashing on fire. Heaven pleasing Hell.

Anna digs her nails into Ruby’s legs, using all her strength to keep them open, keep them steady. Ruby trembles at her touch, human body reacting naturally, demon spirit inside acting unnaturally. Because Grace and Black aren’t meant to collide, not like this. But both of them like it.

No, love it.

The angel shuts her eyes, savouring the taste of Ruby on her tongue, listening to the breathless pants, the shrill mewls, the carnal moans. Demons screaming at their hands is something most angels would consider a good thing. Anna’s the only one who finds this kind of demonic screeching good. Musical even. Better than Mozart or Beethoven, Bach or Chopin, Floyd or Queen. Beautiful in the strangest way, a twisted song only Anna heard, and one Ruby only sings for her.

The demon doesn’t disappoint, continuing her hymn of lust, her aria of ecstasy, her ode to their demented love. Her muse belts out the feelings, and her voice trills out what she can, the rest filtered by the fishing net of fervent conflict.

Because her being tells her, no, no kill her, kill the winged whore, don’t speak unless the words are DIE DIE DIE. But her mind assures her it’s okay, urges her to go on, let her sweet girl eat her heart out, and then whisper the words more more more when she remembers how to breathe.

And it’s in that intense slew of turmoil, that raging storm of chaos, that clamour of befuddled warring feelings, that her blaze of infatuation, that yearning for the fiery redhead ignites from. The delicious passion, the forbidden yet powerful drive, the cornerstone of desecration of two great beings. Every touch rips off another one of Anna’s wings just as it vacuums out more of Ruby’s smoke. They’d kill each other with this, with this affair, this indulgence, this love.

Ruby lets out a soft cry, clutching the other’s hair for dear life. She keeps her half-lidded eyes fixed on the bobbing ball of fire at her legs, encouraging her to consume her, enflame her, engulf her in the angelic bliss she’s always threatened never to touch. Close, she’s very close to letting out the final number, hitting the last note, reaching the long awaited and oh so satisfying climax.

Anna knows it. She knows it and keeps going, pushing Ruby towards it, towards the light of orgasm, to the sanctuary at her peak. Anna wants to be the one who pushes her over and makes her fly away. They can fly away together; fly straight to the depths of damnation, somewhere where this illicit addiction the two share for each other isn’t as bad as people make it. Then again, they both know it’s more than pretty bad, worse than heroin or crack, any drug or pill, anything known to mortal men.

So she nears that point, that summit of pleasure, that land of sensual exhilaration, mind overtaken by static and shrieks. As it builds, heightening to such a point, Ruby feels everywhere Anna touched her. The kisses the angel planted on her lips, tongue once twirling with hers, soft lips roughly ramming against hers. Then all the caresses and strokes, massaging her skin, petting her body with harsh tenderness, precise affection, coarse care. Every spot Anna’s lips touched her before—her face, her neck, her shoulders, her back, her stomach, her feet, her legs—burns, blood boiling and bubbling, flushing her skin, the overwhelming spectre of flaming heat infecting her, possessing her, taking her.

Anna tastes her hellfire, her belligerent and restless spirit, her raw emotions and frenzied amorous ardour. And although her tongue dances in the centre of the fire, the heart of the inferno, the sparking kindling, she enjoys the burn. It’s a brilliant burn, a delectable burn, one that fuels her as much as it does Ruby. She fans the flames and then sucks them in, keeping herself ablaze. They make the fire together, Ruby letting off her smoke while Anna emits the light. It’s a balance so fitting but so delicate, sensible yet improbable, their equal exchange a pure miracle in itself.

Then Ruby reaches it, the climax, the point of no return. And the glow of sweet pleasure ripples through her, wave after wave rattling her bones, her muscles, her skin, her spirit. Demons scarcely feel things as true and pure as this, at least nothing pleasant like this. It’s a blessing, a sinful and blasphemous blessing bestowed upon her. And it’s so overwhelming, the sensation making her melt, making her grip Anna’s hair so tightly she nearly tears a clump out, making her arch towards the angel’s waiting mouth, making her shut her eyes and bask in the glorious ecstasy.

She lets out a cry, not too loud, not too long. She hits that last note of her finale, closing her number by hitting the highest key with professional precision, and with all the raw charm of the fiery passion within.

Anna takes that passion and feeds on it, then takes her reward. Demons have a special taste to them, a sharp tartness somehow mixed with tangs of acid. Bitter and sour. Nasty in every way. Yet she loves it. Ruby’s taste. It’s so bad it’s good, however that works. Ruby must be the exception to the ‘demons are repulsive’ rule. Not that Anna follows many rules anymore. No one plays by the rules anymore. Which is why Anna can press her face to a demon’s heated skin and savour her taste, make her potent on her taste buds, intoxicate herself with the dirtiest nectar.

And as Ruby’s song finishes, her moans outdone by erratic pants, she feels the tension leave her, ebbing away now that she released. And with her body relaxing again, she slowly leans back, loosening her grip on that red frayed hair, feeling it run like silk through her fingers.

It’s over. Now she can hate herself again, as soon as the bliss wore off, as soon as her sweet girl leaves her and becomes the enemy once again. That’s just how it works.

Anna’s aware of that too; lifting her head from between Ruby’s legs, watching with lust glazed dark eyes as Ruby lies back. She licks her lips as she climbs over the demon, breathing slow and heavy, a hunter looming over her prey. Then Ruby’s face is right beneath hers, thick air between their faces as they huff and pant. Black coals stare into cooling amber, both so intense, both still so reactive.

“We should stop doing this,” Anna breaths, brusque and blunt. They really should, but she knows they won’t. They said that last time would be the last. And the time before that. And before that. And before that. And that. And that…

“Psh,” Ruby blows a lock of dark hair from her face, a cattish grin curling on her lips. She props herself, close enough for their lips to nearly touch, stopping just before they touch to whisper, “Not until I get on top of you.”

Anna rolls her eyes, a breathless laugh escaping her throat. Typical.

Anna can’t reply, Ruby capturing her lips, tugging on the angel’s lower lip. All she can do is kiss back, pushing the demon down with her kiss. Moist and acidic. Hot and wrong. Twisted in every way. But at the same time the closest thing to perfection the two will ever have.

Ruby lets Anna push her down, and as she allows the angel to dominate over her, she reaches up. Again her hands lace in the long locks of red, weaving her fingers in her hair, gripping tightly. She sees the long hair drape down around her face, like marvellous and lush curtains. She clutches the hair tighter and shuts her eyes, the backs of her lids painted red.

Shining cherry red.


End file.
